


Saving Paladin Danse

by Liberty_Prime



Series: Amicus, Invictus [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Banter, Blind Betrayal spoilers, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Fallout 4 Spoilers, Gen, Gore, Lots of dialogue, Post-Blind Betrayal, Suggestive Themes, Swearing, Violence, alcohol use, and a bad love confession
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-06-10 07:52:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6946414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liberty_Prime/pseuds/Liberty_Prime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to The Broken Tin Heart:</p>
<p>After the events that led to Paladin Danse's disappearance, Paladin Victoria Winter sets out to rescue him. And she will burn the entire Commonwealth down to do it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>**<em>March 31 2018: I know it has been almost a year but I swear this work is not abandoned and will be finished this summer</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Days' Travel

**Author's Note:**

> This will likely make a little more sense after reading part one, but you will probably be okay without it. Either way, enjoy!
> 
> Italics = flashbacks.

“Good evening, miss.”

“Hey Ham. MacCready in?”

“In the usual spot.”

“Thanks.”

The trek from the Prydwen to Goodneighbor had been slower than Victoria had hoped. Not only did power armor make it difficult to move, it was loud and bulky and made it difficult to stay hidden. Normally, a properly timed diversion and a quick sprint past super mutants was enough to get by unscathed. But, thanks to the tons of metal she was clunking around in, Victoria had had to backtrack multiple times and take longer routes around downtown Boston to get to her destination. 

That was not to mention the three hours she had wasted hiding on an old fire escape, waiting for a pack of mongrel dogs to lose interest- she didn’t like killing the dogs if she didn’t have to-, and the rooftop jumping she had had to do to get past an army of mirelurks. She had almost fallen off the roofs several times, and it had definitely not been a quiet ordeal. Luckily for her, her screams and the crashing of her armored feet smashing through wood and concrete hadn’t attracted too much attention from anyone but the overgrown, mutated sea life. 

Once she had finally reached Goodneighbor, filthy, angry, and exhausted from two days’ travel with no sleep and meagre food, she had stomped her way into the Old State House to leave her power armor with a somewhat confused and always intimidating Fahrenheit. Ignoring her when she asked where Hancock was, and assuring her that she would be back for the armor soon and simply didn’t want to scuff up old Charlie’s floors, Victoria had trudged down to the Third Rail.

She had muttered greetings to the few drifters she passed, and stopped briefly to listen to a conversation between two of the Neighborhood Watch. It was the word witchcraft that had piqued her interest, and she surmised from their conversation that there was a museum up north that had something “spooky” living inside. She had shrugged and continued on, the lights of the Memory Den lighting up the road. She would have popped in to say hello to Kent, but she had business to attend to first.

Victoria had always preferred Goodneighbor to Diamond City. Sure, the _Great Green Jewel_ was far safer and a lot less scummy than the drifter town, but many of the people in Diamond City were not the type she liked to be around. They were uptight. Condescending. Hoity-toity, for lack of a better word. After she had learned from Hancock that they had run all the ghouls out of town, her liking of the city had plummeted. If not for Nick and Piper, and the shops and mass of trading opportunities, she doubted she would have ever stepped foot in Diamond City again. The folks in Goodneighbor were far less rude to her in passing, and she never felt like she had to worry about being arrested. They were accepting. She felt like less of an outcast. As long as she kept her belongings out of the reach of pickpockets, she knew no one would harm her.

As soon as she stepped past Ham and onto the stairs down into the Third Rail, she heard the familiar sound of Magnolia singing. It felt like not very long ago she had convinced Nick and Piper to follow her to Goodneighbor on their way back from one of Nick’s investigations. The Dugout Inn couldn’t compare to the Third Rail in Victoria’s eyes; as much as she liked the Bobrovs, their bar didn’t have the same atmosphere as the Third Rail. Plus, she knew MacCready and Hancock were always ready to share some drinks.

_“I’ve never told anyone this, but it was actually my dream job to be a detective.” The five of them were sitting around a table, not yet having ordered drinks, but already chatting away. Nick and Piper were smoking their cigarettes while they spoke. Hancock’s knife was in the center of the table and he would occasionally spin in around._

_“Really?” Piper sounded surprised._

_“Yeah, since I was like nine years old. I was actually going to school to do that kind of job, you know… before.” Victoria was fidgeting, staring at her hands. The bustle of the bar was comforting background noise._

_“That’s so cool. You and Nick could be partners!” Victoria laughed at Piper’s excitement._

_“Wait, how old are you?” MacCready asked. He was leaning on his elbows, arms crossed on the table. The four of them looked at her._

_Victoria stopped and considered him for a moment. “Not telling.”_

_“C’mon blue, why not?” Piper grinned. “It’s not like you’re that old.”_

_“Technically I’m older than all of you.”_

_Hancock snorted. Even Valentine smiled, eyes twinkling._

_“Seriously though. How old.” MacCready was nothing if not persistent._

_“How old do you think I am?” Victoria had never told anyone her true age; she had answered differently any time someone in the Brotherhood had asked, and none of her friends had ever brought it up before. It seemed age was not an important detail in the post-war world._

_MacCready shrugged. “I don’t know.”_

_“Guess,” she challenged._

_“Mm… twenty-eight?” They all nodded in agreement to a number close to that._

_Victoria fiddled with her coat sleeve, tilting her head to the side. “Mm… yeah. Minus, seven.”_

_Stunned silence. She looked up. “What?”_

_“You’re only twenty-one?! Holy shit! I mean crap!”_

_“What, I’ll be twenty-two like, pretty soon.”_

_“Put that damn weapon away! This is a bar, not a raider den! Now are you lot gonna order something or do I have to kick you out?” Whitechapel Charlie was a charmer, as always._

Victoria stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking around at the room. The lighting was dim, but Magnolia’s dress sparkled in the far corner. It was busy, and Charlie was behind the counter, polishing glasses and no doubt bickering with whoever was sitting at the bar. The air was stuffy and smelled of alcohol and sweat. She sighed and made her way over to the door under the VIP sign, holding her side as she walked.

“Hey boss!” MacCready stood up from the chair he was sitting on, setting his rifle down beside it. It had been months since they had seen each other. 

“Hey, Mac.” 

Victoria’s first impression of MacCready hadn’t been a good one, and she had been hesitant to travel with him initially. But she had quickly realized he was not the person he presented himself as, and they had become close friends in a matter of days. Victoria didn’t know if it was because they were the same age, or if it was because he had had a wife and kid, but he was a lot more understanding and less judgmental than other people she knew. She found it easy to talk to him; she never had to worry about saying the wrong thing or bringing up topics that others may be embarrassed to talk about.

“Why you looking so somber? Did something happen?” A hint of concern laced his voice.

Victoria realized she was leaning to the side, back and neck killing her from standing upright for two days. She was exhausted and in pain, and not doing a great job of hiding it.

She wasn’t sure why she had decided to come to MacCready for help, instead of someone who may have been better suited to the task. Someone like Nick, or Hancock, had far more experience than her or MacCready. She figured they would likely be angry she hadn’t come to them for help, but she wanted this mission to be quick, simple, and stealthy. More people involved, meant more unwanted attention.

“That’s why I’m here. I need your help.”

“Oh? With what?”

“How would you like to help me kill some Gunners?”


	2. Day 3

MacCready had needed to stop at Kill or Be Killed early that morning to pick up some extra ammo and supplies before they set out. Victoria waited outside while he talked with KL-E-O. She was anxious to get going, and felt a rush of relief when MacCready finally stepped out of the weapons store.

“I left some power armor at the State House. I’m sure Hancock won’t mind.”

MacCready heaved his bag onto his back. “Good. I’m not coming with you if you’re clunking around in that stuff.”

“Whatever.”

They left Goodneighbor quietly, before most of the residents had risen for the day. 

Now it was late afternoon; they had made it through downtown Boston without any incident, and Victoria was relieved to be on the open Wasteland sooner than expected. The mission was going well. The only downside so far was that Victoria’s backpack was heavier than she would have liked. She had grown accustomed to Danse carrying most of their gear on missions, and when she had told MacCready that she had no idea how long this trip would take or how much of their supplies they would burn through, he had insisted on bringing extra food. Lots of extra food. 

Even though she had wanted to complain, she kept her mouth shut. She figured she was lucky MacCready had even agreed to come along, given the lack of information she had given him and the vague timeline she had provided. The extra food would no doubt slow her down, but she would rather have a few more hours on the road than have to go about this endeavor completely alone. Elder Maxson had said that the Gunners had given two weeks for a response upon initial delivery of the ransom note. That had been three days ago, going on four, and she didn’t know what obstacles they would encounter on the way. She also didn’t know how serious the Gunners were about executing Danse; one would think killing their only hostage wouldn’t be the smartest course of action, but Victoria wasn’t as well versed in these situations as the Gunners no doubt were.

MacCready’s voice jostled her from her thoughts.

“Why are you carrying that thing?” he pointed to the rubber kickball she had picked up in the last neighbourhood they strolled through. She had found it on the edge of a creepy abandoned playground, and somehow it was still inflated. Without thinking, she had bent over, picked it up, and continued walking. The question reminded her of all the scoldings she had received from Danse about picking up junk, but MacCready hadn’t mastered his _stern voice_ the way Danse had.

She shrugged. “For fun?”

“Right,” he said skeptically. 

Another thing she had grown used to while traveling with Danse was silence. A lot of silence. That, however, was not something that was common while traveling with MacCready. Victoria realized he was still talking.

“-How did he even get captured? Huge dude in power armor, kind of hard to take down.”

They were walking side by side, pace easy but determined. The sun was hot on their backs. MacCready had his rifle slung lazily over one shoulder and his hat was somewhat askew. Their boots kicked up dust as they walked. His green duster flapped lightly in the wind.

“He wasn’t wearing his armor.”

MacCready gasped mockingly. “You finally got him out of it?”

When Victoria looked over at him, he was grinning at her and wiggling an eyebrow. 

“It wasn’t like that, you perv,” she barked. She started walking a little faster, trying to get ahead of him before he saw the redness in her cheeks.

“I dunno, you were sending serious _‘I want him in my pants’_ signals last time I saw you.”

“Oh my god!” she whirled around and hurled the kickball at him. He shouted as it hit his shoulder and bounced off, flying back behind them. 

MacCready howled with laughter and ran to get away from her.

“I’m going to kill you I swear to God!” she yelled as she ran after him. 

For a few moments, Victoria forgot the desolation and wretchedness of the Commonwealth. She was a teenager again, chasing a friend through a field, without a care in the world. They both grinned and laughed, and she was happy. There weren’t creatures waiting to kill her around every corner. The world wasn’t a dry, dead wasteland. She wasn’t on an impossible mission to save the person she cared the most about; a mission she wasn’t even sure she would come back from.

She was brought sharply back to the present as she ran right into MacCready’s back. He dropped swiftly to his knees, hissing: “Get down!”

She quickly followed suit, peering over his shoulder, hand gripping his upper arm.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know,” MacCready whispered. He slowly drew his rifle, and peered down the scope. Victoria squinted, trying to find whatever it was he had seen. A bird cawed overhead. The dry, brown grass rustled in the breeze.

MacCready knelt as still as a statue, sucking in a breath and holding it, before pulling the trigger. The crack of the gunshot echoed, and all fell silent.

MacCready stood suddenly. “Alright, it was just a raider, we’re good.”

“Just a raider? It’s never _just a raider_.”

He chuckled. “I guess we’ll have to watch out then. I don’t see anyone else though, and there’s not many places to hide.”

Once Victoria was sure there were no more raiders, they continued on their way. The dry air made her throat itch. Her eyes felt like sandpaper, and she was beginning to get a headache from squinting from the sun. She knew they needed to ration what little purified water they had managed to scrounge up, so she only took a small sip from her bottle. Part of her mind wanted to save all of the water; there was no telling what kind of condition Danse would be in when they got to him, and it was likely he would need it more than she did. She knew it was foolish, and that if Danse were there he would be harping on her to stay hydrated, but she still drank less than she should have.

“Anyway, you never answered. How did they capture him?”

Victoria could see MacCready looking at her out of the corner of her eye. She wanted to apologize to him for being so distant, since he was making so much of an effort out of starting a conversation. Instead, she sighed. 

“A lot of shit went down, and I wasn’t there when I should have been. I made some dumb moves. I don’t know how they got him, just that they did.”

“Gunners aren’t exactly stupid I guess,” MacCready adjusted the collar of his shirt. The sun was still beating down on them, and sweat was forming on the back of his neck. 

“Why were you guys just hanging out at Sanctuary?”

“He… we… Did you not hear?”

“Hear what? I haven’t exactly been inside of the loop lately.”

“Yeah, sorry,” she smiled at his slightly incorrect version of the old saying. She paused, unsure how to explain, before deciding on: “Danse got kicked out of the Brotherhood.”

MacCready’s mouth hung open. He stared at her blankly for a few moments.

“What?? How? Why??”

She looked up at the sky, still hesitant to reveal the truth. “He’s… a synth.”

“Woah woah woah. He’s a _what_?!”

They had both stopped walking, and MacCready had taken a few steps back, away from her. When her only answer was to stare back at him, he kept backing away.

“No, no, no, I’m not rescuing a synth.”

“Hey! No. You owe me MacCready! You are NOT backing out now!” she seethed. “I came to you because I thought you’d get it!”

He raised his hands in a placating gesture, but it didn’t stop her voice from rising.

“I helped you get that damn medicine for your damn kid with no benefit to me and for no reason other than I wanted to help your sorry ass for God knows why, so you can shut your big fat mouth and return the damn favour!” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she regretted them instantly. He looked hurt. The look only lasted a moment before he hid it behind a small, lopsided smile.

“Whoa, jeez. I think there were some people in Diamond City who didn’t hear you.” 

“I… I’m sorry. I… didn’t mean that.” Victoria stammered, backtracking. “I’m glad that we saved Duncan. I’m just…”

“I know. And I know I’m a pain in the ass.” At that, he grinned for real. “And I do owe you for helping me get that stuff for Duncan. So, let’s keep walking, yeah?”

They kept walking. The silence felt tense. It didn’t last long, however.

“You’d really go this far to save a synth?”

Victoria sighed. “He’s Danse, MacCready. He’s still the same guy.”

“It actually makes a lot more sense now,” MacCready interrupted, as if he wasn’t listening. “The whole, no emotions and big words thing he’s got going on.”

Victoria rolled her eyes, but otherwise ignored the insult. “Sorry I yelled at you.”

“Well, I’m sorry your synth boyfriend got stolen.” 

The wicked grin he flashed her before darting out of her reach made her growl. He ran ahead, taunting her and laughing.

“Fuck you!” she called after him, but the insult was lost by the laughter bubbling through her words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, just to get the ball rolling. Next ones will be better!


	3. Day 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forensic anthropology comes in handy more often than you would think.
> 
> Warnings for lots of blood, gore, and some vomiting in this chapter

The luck they had encountered during the first day of their trip quickly ran out. 

They were sauntering through another abandoned neighborhood when Victoria saw a Red Rocket Station. She wasn’t sure why, but she had a certain fascination with the old stations, and they were her favorite places to search for junk. She thought maybe she had a soft spot for them because the Red Rocket near Sanctuary Hills was the first place she had ever lived after waking up from her deep freeze, but she had never put too serious a thought into it.

As she skipped up to the garage, her foot caught on something and she heard a distinct _‘click!’_. The realization hit her about a second before an arm grabbed her and yanked her to the ground as grenades exploded in and around the building. Alarms sounded. She could hear shouting over the ringing in her ears.

It had been MacCready that pulled her to the ground, and he swore loudly before grabbing her arm and dragging her behind him. 

They ran. Raiders were soon to follow.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she whispered. They had taken refuge in a church tower, managing to make it up the stairs and barricade the door before anyone knew where they had gone. Her face was by MacCready’s ear, her hand on his shoulder as he aimed down the scope of his rifle. Someone was shouting down below. A stray bullet whizzed past them.

“Is this really the time, Vee?”

“I’ve never killed anyone before.”

He whipped around to look at her, a perplexed and slightly pained look on his face. 

“ _What?_ ” he hissed. “How is that possible? You’ve killed loads of things.”

“No, I haven’t. That’s the thing-” she flinched at the ear-splitting crack of his gun firing. “I’ve killed a few mikelurks and I shot a super mutant in the leg one time but I’ve never actually-” another gunshot, “-killed a person.”

She watched as MacCready landed every shot he fired, and the last few raiders dropped to the ground. MacCready turned to face her, still crouching. He stared into her dark eyes, searching.

“How is that possible?” he repeated.

She hesitated. She had never told anyone the truth, except for Nick. And the only reason she had told Nick in the first place was because she told Nick everything. He had a strange way of pulling every deep dark secret out of her and she was never afraid to reveal them to him.

She took a breath. “I always just let other people kill people. I just pretend.”

MacCready stared. “What?? _Why?_ ”

“I can’t do it! Okay?!” she blurted. “I can’t kill things!”

“What about all that gun training we did?”

“Shooting isn’t the problem, Mac. I can shoot just fine. I just can’t shoot _things_. Even if they’re trying to kill me. I just can’t do it.”

His eyebrows were furrowed and he was gawking at her like she was crazy. 

The truth was, the thought of killing something, even just a feral dog, made her sick. Any time she had gotten into a scrap while traveling with someone, she would pretend; fire a few shots and miss on purpose. If she got into a scrap while alone, she would run or hide. It was embarrassing to her. She acted tough, but in reality, she knew she was a coward. No matter what Nick, or anyone, said to the contrary, she would still never believe otherwise.

_“Even when I’m right there in it. It’s not even like I’m a Quaker or anything, it’s not some deep rooted belief that killing is wrong- I mean, even though it is-, but you’d think that I’d be able to at least kill someone who was trying to hurt me or whatever. But I can’t. I’m too weak.”_

_“That doesn’t make you weak, kid,” Nick rested a hand, his good hand, gently on her arm. She peered up into his glowing eyes. “To be able to look someone in the face, someone who is trying to kill you, or bring you harm, and not want to kill them? To allow them to live even though they would not extend to you the same courtesy? That takes far more strength than just simply pulling the trigger.”_

She sat down heavily on the creaky wooden floor of the tower, defeated. She stared at her hands, and MacCready stared at her.

There was silence. Then she continued:

“I can’t even deal with people getting hurt. I’m not brave, Mac. This place is so fucked up and I can’t do it,” she put her head in her hands, voice unsteady.

MacCready sat down carefully beside her. “Getting hurt how?”

“I almost puked all over Danse one time when I had to stitch him up.”

MacCready barked out a sudden laugh, before hastily covering it up with a cough. She shot him a glare.

There was a guilty look on his face. “Sorry.”

Victoria sighed. “I wasn’t raised on this shit the way you all were. I’d never even _seen_ a gun in real life, let alone used one. I certainly hadn’t had to stitch up a dying dude.”

“What happened?”

_The raiders that had grabbed her had been so quiet they would have put Deacon to shame. Victoria and Danse had stopped at an abandoned shack to rest for the evening, and were cooking a pot of Blamco Mac & Cheese over a low fire just outside the door. He was sitting cross legged, and she was kneeling beside him. Their knees were almost touching. Danse had exited his power armor, much to her surprise, and left it standing near the shack door like some kind of steel guardian. She relished the rare moments when Danse took off his armor; there was less of a barrier between them, and it made him seem more accessible. Plus, it was always a bonus to check out his toned body when he wasn’t looking._

_They were a few days into an easy scouting mission, and it was going better than either of them had expected. Victoria was laughing loudly at one of his stories- even though he didn’t look too amused- when the barrel of a gun was suddenly pressed to the back of Danse’s head._

_“Don’t move.”_

_The figure holding the gun was cloaked in shadow, voice low and gravelly._

_Victoria’s heart dropped into her stomach. Danse’s eyes were wide as he raised his hands slowly into the air. There were multiple sets of footsteps around them, but she couldn’t see how many people there were._

_The voice spoke again: “Well well, what do we have here?”_

_“Look,” Danse’s voice was calm, but had a dangerous edge to it. “Do whatever you want to me, but leave her alone.”_

_“Look at this boys, we’ve got ourselves a hero!”_

_Laughter surrounded them. It was disorienting, as Victoria wasn’t able to tell which direction the sounds were coming from._

_It all happened as fast as lightening. An arm wrapped around her waist and yanked her off the ground, and a rough hand smacked down onto her mouth before she could yell. She saw a few bodies leap towards Danse; there were at least five raiders, maybe more. There was shouting and crashing as she was hauled away by the brute holding her, kicking and grabbing and flailing, trying desperately to get out of his grip. Gunshots were being fired, but she couldn’t see what was happening to Danse._

_She screamed into the man’s palm when she heard Danse cry out in pain. Blinded by fear that they were going to kill him, she grabbed frantically at the man’s hair and yanked on it as hard as she could. The raider howled as she tried to fight him, and they stumbled around in the darkness. She heard another gunshot, louder this time, and immediately felt something warm and thick explode all over the right side of her head, neck, and arm. Shouting, she hit the ground hard on her stomach, and a heavy weight landed on top of her, unmoving. Wriggling out from beneath it, she gaped in horror at the raider that had been holding her._

_The lighting from the moon and their small campfire was dim, but she could make out enough of the scene in front of her. The man’s head was gone. Bits of torn, bloodied skin only partly covered a broken spinal cord and part of a hyoid bone, both gleaming white in the moonlight. Blood spurted in thick jets from the stump of his neck._

_Blood, mushy bits of brain, and sharp white skull fragments littered the ground around them. An eyeball, still partially attached, rested not far in front of her._

_She brought a shaking hand up to her face, feeling the sticky blood and gore that covered her. She couldn’t move; she merely continued staring in shock at the empty space where the raider’s head should have been. Her ears rang. Her mind was blank of all thought._

_A gargled cry startled her out of her frozen state, and she hurriedly tried to stand on trembling legs. Everything was a blur, and only one thought engulfed her._

_“Danse?” she called out, voice quivering. A feeble reply sounded from inside the shack a few meters away, and she stumbled towards it._

_Danse was on the floor, leaned up against the wall. His face was pale, and he looked up at her weakly when she appeared in the doorway._

_There was another headless body inside the door, but Victoria ignored it, crashing to her knees beside Danse. He was covered in blood, and she wasn’t sure how much of it was his own. His orange BoS jumpsuit was torn in several places, and he had his hand pressed firmly to his right side._

_“There’s a suture kit in my bag,” he gasped._

_Victoria ripped as much of his suit away from his chest and abdomen as she could. His skin was already turning purple in a few places, and there were cuts all over his torso; some superficial, others not. He had been beaten severely. There was gunshot wound to his left shoulder. However, the worst of his injuries was a deep gash that ran from his sixth or seventh rib, in an arc down to his abdomen. It was bleeding heavily._

_“Oh my god,” she looked away, bringing her hand to her mouth and gagging into her fist. It was the worst laceration she had ever seen._

_Victoria had no idea how Danse had managed to fight the raiders off. Somehow he had acquired one of their guns, killed a few of them, and then killed the guy who was holding her. While she had been frozen, staring at the headless body, Danse must have wrestled with the last raider, and ended up in the shack. He had done all of this while gravely injured._

_“Soldier, you are going to have to stitch me up,” Danse rasped. His left eye was starting to swell from a blow he had received to the face._

_“I c-can’t,” she stammered. “I c-can’t do it.”_

_Blood was oozing out from under his hand in a steady stream. Her vision went bright and her head started to swim._

_“Knight-”_

_“I’m not a doctor! I don’t know anything about this stuff!”_

_“Soldier, I…” he trailed off, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “…I need you to keep it together.”_

_She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. If she did nothing, Danse would likely die from blood loss before anyone could reach them. She couldn’t let that happen._

_“Okay,” she whispered to herself. Her stomach churned, and she swallowed down another wave of nausea. “Okay Vic you can do this.”_

_He was still putting pressure on his side, so she checked his back for any other lacerations, and found only shallow cuts and scrapes. The priority was the gunshot to his shoulder, and the huge gash on his side._

_She listened to his breathing. It was slow and labored. She noticed his hands shaking, and when she looked into his eyes, his pupils were dilated._

_“Shit,” she grabbed his face. “Danse? Danse? I think you’re going into shock.”_

_His only answer was to gaze at her, a tired and confused look on his face. Victoria darted to her feet, stumbling outside towards his pack. The campfire was still burning, and the night air was cool. She tripped and fell, half-heartedly trying to catch herself on her hands, but her elbows buckled and she landed in the dirt. A few lifeless bodies were scattered around their camp, but she didn’t look at them. She stopped for a moment to catch her breath before crawling to his bag and rifling through it. She grabbed the extra blanket, stimpaks, med-x, the suture kit, and the half-full bottle of whiskey she had stuffed in there when he wasn’t looking. Lastly, she snatched up a signal grenade, hurriedly pulling the pin and tossing it onto the ground. She knew it would be a while before the Brotherhood could get to them, and she wasn’t sure how long Danse would last if left untreated. If the blood loss didn’t kill him, she feared the shock would. Stimpaks and stitches could stop the bleeding, but there was nothing she would be able to do about possible hypoxia or a heart attack._

_She wobbled her way back into the shack, dumping the armload of supplies beside Danse and hastily covering him with the rough grey blanket._

_She gagged. The metallic smell of blood filled the air._

_“Don’t waste the stims,” Danse croaked. He looked like a ghost._

_“I’m not,” she gritted out as she stabbed one into his side, followed by a dose of med-x._

_“This gash looks pretty deep but I don’t think there’s any internal damage,” she muttered, not entirely sure if he could hear her._

_While she waited for the chems to set in, she quickly checked his shoulder; there was an exit wound and no swelling, suggesting the bullet hadn’t hit bone. It had probably simply passed through his deltoid. A few inches to the right and it could have hit arteries, bone, or nerves, and her task of patching him up would have been far more difficult. After pouring a bit of the whiskey onto his shoulder, she wrapped it as tight as she could with a bandage and told him to put pressure on it with his right hand. It would give her better access to his side, and, if he didn’t pass out, give him something to do while she attempted to stitch him up._

_“How the hell do I do this?” she whispered to herself, frantic. “I can’t even stitch two pieces of cloth together, let alone…”_

_Returning to the gash on his torso, she noticed the stimpak had thankfully slowed the bleeding. She poured some whiskey over the wound, and he jumped, hissing and involuntarily kicking his legs. Glancing at his face, she clambered over him, straddling his thighs and locking her feet over his knees to keep his legs down. It took a few moments to thread the needle from the suture kit with hands shaking like an earthquake, but after a few frustrated growls she finally managed it. As an afterthought, she took off her jacket and ripped off the sleeve, jamming it into his mouth._

_“Bite into this, Danse, this is probably gonna hurt.”_

_She steeled herself, sucking in a breath, and went to put in the first stitch. He bucked, shouting into the cloth, and she teetered forward, putting a hand on his chest to steady herself._

_“It’s okay, shh, it’s gonna be okay,” she keened. It was taking all of her will power to not burst into tears, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from vomiting for much longer. “It’s alright, big guy. You’re fine. You’re gonna be just fine.”_

_Her words were for herself as much as they were for him. She heaved into the back of her hand again, a dry, choking gag that made her eyes water._

_“Stay with me, okay?” she patted his cheek. His eyelids were drooping, pupils blown wide. “Hey. Remember that time I almost blew you up in that reactor? When all those synths were attacking us?”_

_As she spoke, she kept stitching up his side. Warm blood covered her hands. He was groaning, an almost continuous monotone, but he had lost the energy and stopped bucking. She hoped the med-x had kicked in and taken away some of the pain._

_“God, I was so scared I had killed you. I barely even knew you back then,” her voice wavered. Tears blurred her vision and she hurriedly wiped them away. “How the hell was I gonna tell your team I had killed you on our first mission? But nope. I ran out, and there you were. Paladin Danse, blown up and still kicking. Barely even fazed. Indestructible.”_

_He yelled again at a particularly painful stitch. Her breath hitched, and she wiped more tears away. “You’ve survived way worse than this. You’re not gonna let some stupid raiders take you down, right?”_

_Victoria could tell she was losing him; whether to unconsciousness or death, she wasn’t sure. She reached for another stimpak._

_“You’re gonna be just fine, okay? It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.”_

_She kept whispering that to him, even after he passed out. He was unconscious, but his heart was still slowly beating and his breathing was shallow. Her hands quaked with every stitch, and she kept repeating the same words over and over like a mantra. Like if she said them enough times, they would be true._

_With him limp, the stitches were a little easier. Once she finished, she wrapped his torso taut with gauze. She was on autopilot, not thinking. He was still breathing._

_He had defensive wounds on both his hands and some on his arms, so she swiftly wrapped both his palms and forearms tight in gauze. She gently but firmly felt around his rib cage to check for any broken ribs or flail chest. Everything felt normal to her inexperienced hands, so she moved on. There were no strange colours on his skin, and no abnormal swelling. His heart was still beating. He was still breathing._

_The worst was over._

_Victoria huffed out a sigh, gently resting her forehead against his. She was still shaking. After a moment, she covered him with the blanket and carefully stood up, staggering towards the door. She collapsed when she reached the doorway and she laid there, limp, trying to breathe in some fresh air. Her stomach convulsed and she vomited. Tears fell from her eyes as she retched and heaved a few more times, the stench of vomit filling her nostrils._

_Lights flashed in her vision, and she felt like she was floating._

_In the distance, she could hear the growing hum of a vertibird._

"Anyway, I passed out before the vertibird got there. They told me I saved his life, but it didn’t really feel like it.”

“Christ, Vee, what do you mean it didn’t feel like it?”

“We never spoke about it. He thanked me, when he woke up, but that was all,” she flicked a chunk of dirt off her pants and rubbed her nose. “I was too scared to bring it up. I felt like shit. For falling apart, like that. Like such a… pathetic coward. I couldn’t even stay awake long enough to make sure we got to safety.”

MacCready paused. “How does that make you a coward?”

Victoria gazed at him. She wasn’t sure. It was just a feeling; a feeling she had never gotten over, a feeling she felt often and stuffed away. A feeling of inadequacy, insignificance. 

“Courage isn’t the absence of fear, Vee. It’s the conquest of it. Sure, you puked and passed out, but you also stitched up a _dying dude_ and kept him safe while dealing with some scary sh- stuff. I’d say that’s pretty damn brave. Definitely not pathetic, and _definitely_ not cowardly. I can’t say I would’ve been able to do that.” MacCready got to his feet, peering out the window. Victoria focused on keeping her breathing steady as her mind spun. His words, like Nick's, rattled through her head.

MacCready slung his rifle over his shoulder. “I think we’re good to go, wanna head out?”

Looking up at him, she swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, and took the hand he offered to help her up.


	4. Day 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Warnings for this chapter.

MacCready kept falling behind, and had to jog to catch up. 

It had been two days since she pulled the rookie move of activating the trip wire and almost blowing herself up. Two days before that, they had set out from Goodneighbor. 

With all the goofing off they had done during their four days on the road, Victoria started to feel an impending sense of doom after realizing their remaining days were quickly slipping by. She was now on day six of a _maximum_ fourteen day journey, and they were nowhere close to Fort Hagen, let alone an unmarked bunker they still had to find on their own. They were quickly running out of time. 

Her easygoing, almost lazy pace, was quickened to a determined stride; one that Paladin Danse would have approved of.

“So, you claim to not know anything about medical stuff, but how did you know what to do when Danse was dying?” MacCready was still going at it with the non-stop questions. Normally, Victoria would have welcomed a distraction, but she had a headache and was feeling too preoccupied with her own thoughts to focus on conversation. 

“I didn’t,” Victoria kept up her hastened walk, scanning the horizon for any sign of danger.

“But you said something about him going into shock. I didn’t know that could kill someone. And something about flailing?” MacCready’s gear jingled as he did a near-jog behind her, and he sounded a bit winded.

She held in a sigh. “A lot of the time shock is worse than the actual injury. And it’s called _flail chest_ , it’s pretty much just that part of your rib cage breaks off from the rest of your chest wall. It can kill you too.”

“See, how do you know that?”

“Well I took some first aid classes and stuff, I did firefighter training when I was a teenager, but it was dumb because all of that basically just taught us what to do if someone is choking or gets a pencil in their eye.”

There was a long, confused silence. “…What?”

“Never mind.”

Victoria could hear the distant hum of an approaching radiation storm, and glanced towards the green clouds in dismay. They had packed some Radaway, but not nearly enough for both of them to survive prolonged exposure to a storm the size of the one approaching. They would need to seek shelter soon, and in doing so, waste more precious time.

“Most of what you say is gibberish to me.”

“Can we just keep walking?” she snapped. The air was getting thick and humid. 

“You’re not really walking, it’s more of a run.”

She ignored him and strode on in silence, head pounding and mind racing. For the first time during their trip, MacCready was silent as well. Victoria felt bad for snapping at him and ignoring him, but her anxieties about not reaching Danse in time engulfed her mind and made it impossible to think about much else. There were so many possible things that could go wrong, least of all dying before they even reached their destination. _What if we don’t get there in time? What if they kill him? What if they already have killed him? What if we aren’t even going to the right place?_ An increasing sense of urgency spurred her ahead, without much regard for what was happening around her.

_It was the dead of night, and Paladin Danse was on watch. Victoria was having another fitful night in her sleeping bag on the rough wooden boards of the second floor of the house they had decided to camp in, and she sighed, exasperated by the lack of sleep. She was cold, uncomfortable, and her mind would not stop racing. She rolled over, towards the side of the house that had been blown open by some unknown calamity. That was where the Paladin sat, legs hanging over the ledge. Victoria could only see the outline of his broad back against the dim light from the moon, but it looked like he was hunched forward with his head in his hands. Worried, she sat up. It looked to her as if he was rubbing his temples. She unzipped her sleeping bag and got up._

_“Headache, sir?” she asked, sitting down carefully beside him._

_He started, looking over at her as if he hadn’t heard her approach. “I- I am fine. Go back to sleep, Knight.”_

_“Do you get them a lot?” she studied his face as his brows furrowed. “-sir?”_

_“On occasion,” he straightened his posture, running his hands down his thighs. “I told you to get some rest.”_

_She gazed out at the darkness around them, the ruined houses and dead trees ominous in the dim light. Danse was sitting rigid beside her, hands clasped around his knees. They had known each other a while, and done many missions together, but he was still her sponsor and commanding officer; she had no right prying into his personal life, and he certainly would never do so to her. They knew very little about each other, and she figured he would view that as a positive thing. She therefore knew he would be enraged at what she was about to say._

_“I uh, saw the entry in Scribe Haylen’s computer. About your…‘head pain’,” Victoria made air quotes with her hands as she spoke. “And problems sleeping... From combat fatigue and stress?”_

_Her statement hung in the air, and her heartbeat picked up speed._

_“That is confidential information, Knight!” Danse barked. “And also none of your concern! What were you doing trespassing in one of the Brotherhood’s private terminals?”_

_He blinked gingerly as he glared at her, the pain evident in his expression even as he tried to hide it._

_“Where does it hurt?” she asked, voice soft. Danse looked away._

_“It doesn’t,” he said sternly. “I will tell you once again: Get some rest. We are leaving at dawn.”_

_She puffed out a sharp exhale and got to her knees. But instead of returning to her sleeping bag as he had instructed, she deftly put her hand on the back of his neck, gently pressing her fingers into the small dip below his skull to the side of his spine. He lurched forward, hissing, hand gripping the back of his neck._

_Face scrunched in pain, he fumed: “What are you doing, Winter?!”_

_“It’s called a trigger point,” she sat back on her heels, watching the half of his face that was turned towards her. “You’ve got a giant knot there, and if you don’t deal with that, all the rubbing in the world won’t stop your temples from hurting.”_

_He turned around to fully look her in the face._

_“…Sir,” she added, holding his gaze._

_He turned away from her again and sighed, back hunching into its previous position. She shuffled toward him and tentatively put her hands on his shoulders, thumbs at the base of his neck. Carefully, she began to massage the tight muscles._

_“If you let me, sir, I can probably help it a bit. No promises though,” she smiled, desperately hoping to lighten the mood. He didn’t answer. “I mean, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about or whatever. It’s just tense muscles from being a badass all day.”_

_Finally, with that, he gave in. Still on her knees, she laid him down on his back in front of her– with some grunting and annoyed muttering from him – and rested the back of his head on her thighs._

_“Firstly, unclench your jaw. That ain’t helping.”_

_His jaw twitched, tightening more at her words, but eventually it relaxed. Victoria lightly rubbed his jaw joint, before moving to his neck. She started at the base of his neck with a firm pressure, feeling the tight muscles roll beneath her grip. After a few minutes, she made her way further up his neck, stopping at the trigger point she had found and pressing on it. His body did a small jolt at the agonizing pain that shot up to the top of his head with her touch._

_“Breathe in?”_

_“This is ridiculous.”_

_“Just do it,” she continued pressing on the trigger point, fingers bearing down on the cluster of tight muscle as he reluctantly sucked in a breath. “Now breathe out.”_

_He huffed out an irritated sigh, and she felt his body relax marginally. She rubbed her fingers in a small circle, and instructed him to repeat the breaths._

_On his second exhale, the muscle let go with a noticeable shift. She saw his eyes widen, and his head leaned back a bit further into her thighs._

_“There, did you feel that?” she peered down at his upside down face. She kept gently massaging the spot._

_“What was that?” his forehead was creased, brows together in concentration._

_“That, sir, was your splenius capitis relaxing a bit,” she moved her hand to the side of his neck and massaged near his mastoid. “Or, also known as, ‘thank god some relief’.”_

_She repeated the action on the left side of his neck, and he relaxed even more when the other knot let go. It was silent for a while as she massaged his neck, jaw, and temples, rotating between helping the trigger points to release, and gently but firmly rubbing the surrounding muscles._

_“Do you get headaches?” his eyes glanced up into hers._

_“Every day,” she said bluntly._

_He hesitated. “I… was not aware.”_

_She shrugged. “It sucks, but I’ve been dealing with tension headaches for a very long time. Some days are worse than others.”_

_He sat up, and his expression was much softer when he looked at her._

_“You should rest though, sir. I’ll finish the rest of the watch.”_

“Where are we?” Victoria had suddenly taken notice of their surroundings. There were some buildings nearby that she recognized, and irritation rose inside her. “That’s fucking Cambridge! How the hell did we get this far north?!”

MacCready faltered. “We agreed it would be best to avoid the-”

“Fort Hagen is directly west of Goodneighbor!” Victoria spun around, anger written clearly on her face. She raised an arm and jabbed it in the air. “Directly! West!”

“Yes! But the note said that they’re in an unmarked location _south_ of Fort Hagen. It’s better to come at it from the north so we don’t decide to go in a certain direction and miss the place completely!” MacCready said, sweat beading on his brow. “Plus, I told you I didn’t feel like swimming through that da-darn river. How did it take you this long to realize we weren’t going west?”

“I was trusting that you knew where we were! I’ve spent the last week trying to figure out how the hell two of us are going to pull this off, and regretting not getting some more help. I haven’t exactly been sightseeing!” Victoria ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. Thunder crackled nearby. “…When did you tell me you didn’t want to go through the river?”

“When we made all these plans? The night you showed up in Goodneighbor?”

She stared at him, expressionless.

“You don’t remember that, do you?”

She glanced away from him, turning around to continue walking. “Not exactly.”

“You seemed pretty out of it. Kind of like when Hancock has had too much-”

“Let’s stop at the Police Station, maybe they’ve got some hazmat suits so we don’t have to stop for this storm,” she spoke over top of him, resuming her fast pace. She reckoned they could get into the Police Station, regroup, grab any needed supplies, and be back on the road before anyone suspected anything. If anyone had any questions, she would say they were retrieving some classified technology for Maxson from a military checkpoint somewhere to the west.

“I hate Brotherhood jerks though,” MacCready whined.

“So do I, but I outrank most of the dicks there, so let’s get a move on.”

They arrived at Cambridge just as the radiation storm rolled in. The rain started spattering on the ground as the first of the Brotherhood soldiers came into view, and with a quick nod to the Knights outside the door ( _“Paladin.” A nod, “Knight.”_ ), she threw open the heavy door and stepped inside the Police Station, MacCready in toe. 

She trudged into the back room, blatantly avoiding Knight Rhys, and dropped her backpack and gun onto the floor. After telling MacCready to stay put and glaring at him until he sat down, Victoria stomped into the main room to find Scribe Haylen.

“Haylen!” she shouted. A muffled response came from the back of the Station, where Haylen’s makeshift lab was. “We got any hazmat suits?”

Scribe Haylen emerged. “Well hello to you too. And no, we don’t. One of the initiates broke the helmet on our last one a few days ago.”

“Fuck!” Victoria grabbed at her scalp, balling her fist into her hair. When she turned around, MacCready was, irritatingly, right in front of her. 

“Why? What’s wrong?” Scribe Haylen made no attempt to hide her concern.

“We’re just on a bit of a time sensitive mission and the radstorm is screwing things up a bit,” MacCready said, grabbing Victoria by the shoulders and steering her towards the back room. Luckily, no one followed.

“You need to take a breath,” MacCready said as he sat her down in a metal chair.

“I just can’t stop thinking about him, okay?” she slumped in the chair. She continued in a whisper: “It was bad enough when I thought the Brotherhood had him, but Gunners?”

MacCready pulled out a map and flattened it out on the table in front of them. “If we follow the river, around the bend, and then go south-west to Fort Hagen, we should get there in three days. Two and a half if this radstorm clears up quick. And if we stop screwing around.”

“Three days? Christ!” she scrunched up her face, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Vee, it’s alright. The area south of Fort Hagen isn’t that big before it turns into the Glowing Sea, and no way would they have taken him in there. I know them, and I know that area pretty well. It shouldn’t take long to find them,” he took her forearm into his hand and squeezed. 

She took a shaky breath and peered into his eyes, frowning. 

“And once we do, we go in guns blazing. Okay? We’ve taken down Gunners way tougher than these guys before,” he paused. “Well, I have. You just pretended to apparently.” 

MacCready offered a lopsided grin. But the smile on his face faded when she didn’t show him one in return.

“We’re gonna find him, Vee. We’re gonna find him, and we’re gonna bring him back safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a neck/back pain and headache sufferer, Paladin Danse’s headaches are important to me and I’ve always wanted to write something about them.
> 
> I’m not sure if the flashbacks are any good or if they add anything to the story, but I’m having an easier time writing them than the other stuff. Plus I want to keep adding Danse in and it’s the only way to do it!
> 
> Comments are welcome!


	5. Day 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After 2 weeks of no motivation I wrote this in only a few hours, so sorry if it seems rushed. I'm trying to get to the actual rescue but I have all this extra stuff to put in the middle.

“Paladin?” a soft voice jostled Victoria from her reverie. It was the middle of the night, and even though she was exhausted and safe, sleep eluded her. Looking up, she saw Scribe Haylen hovering tentatively in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her.

“Yeah, Haylen?” she went back to rubbing her forehead. The headache she had did not want to quit.

“May I speak with you?” Dark eyes glanced around the dimly lit room, taking in the shadowed form of MacCready snoring lightly on an old rusted bedframe. “In private?”

Holding in a sigh, Victoria swept the hair out of her face and followed Scribe Haylen up the stairs of the police station. Most of the soldiers were asleep, and any that were on watch were currently outside. The old wooden floorboards creaked under Victoria’s boots as she followed Scribe Haylen. The air was stuffy and smelled of mold, dust, and gunpowder. When they reached the top of the stairs, Haylen turned to Victoria, the anxious look on her face lit only by the few metal lanterns that littered the stairwell.

“I… really need to talk to you.”

Victoria’s heart skipped a beat. The statement hung in the air, ominous and looming. _Does she know?_

When Victoria’s only answer was to stand in awkward silence, hands worrying the outside seams of her jeans, Haylen continued: “I… haven’t heard from our… _mutual friend_ in a while.”

Victoria studied Scribe Haylen, taking in the concern and unease that lined her face. They stared at each other for a few moments in silence; Haylen waiting with bated breath and Victoria with a racing mind. 

_Do I tell her the truth? Or do I lie?_

“I was just hoping that maybe you had heard from him?” Haylen spoke hurriedly in a hushed tone. “The last letter he sent said he was with you, but clearly he isn’t. Did something happen?”

Victoria liked Scribe Haylen. She really did. 

In her eyes, Haylen was the only person in the Brotherhood with any sense. She was loyal and trustworthy, but she was also smart enough to have doubts, and to question herself and those in charge. True, she would follow orders, but she also wasn’t blind to what was happening around her. Haylen was the only ‘friend’ Victoria had made in the Brotherhood; and while she wasn’t a friend in the same sense as MacCready or Hancock or Nick, Victoria still knew she could trust her. 

Haylen was also the only person who begged her not to kill Danse. The only other who had supported him, and not turned on him the instant she found out he was a synth. She cared about Danse, almost as much as Victoria did. 

Victoria had trusted Haylen before, many times.

Victoria knew she could trust Haylen. But for some unknown, gut-instinct reason, in this moment, she didn’t.

“He’s fine. He’s safe,” her heart pounded and she hoped the way her jaw clenched after she spoke hadn’t given her away. 

Haylen paused, her anxieties clearly not calmed. “I heard you attacked Knight Lukas. That you were yelling about him having taken someone?”

Eyes wide, Victoria scrambled for an answer. “Yeah, my friend’s kid disappeared. The one I’m with. I’m helping him find him. I thought maybe Lukas saw something.”

“Why did you attack him?”

“Oh, you know. It’s Lukas,” Victoria tried for a playful laugh, but it came out strained and forced. “He’s always up for a fight. Answers best to aggression, you know how it is.”

She cringed inwardly at the lack of finesse she was currently displaying and the obvious look of skepticism on Scribe Haylen’s face. 

“I’m really worried about him, Victoria.”

“He’s fine, really,” she forced a smile. “I promise. He’s just been busy. I’ll beat his ass into contacting you next time I see him, okay?”

Victoria’s insides churned at the ease with which she lied to her friend’s face. She didn’t want to do it, but she couldn’t bring herself to reveal the truth either. She knew Haylen wouldn’t push the matter too much further, for risk of their conversation being overheard, and so she waited.

Haylen still looked doubtful, but eventually nodded and began to descend the stairs back into the station. Victoria quietly let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

\---

MacCready had still been asleep when she returned from talking to Scribe Haylen, so Victoria had quietly finished gathering supplies and making preparations for the rest of their journey. She didn’t sleep.

By morning the radstorm had passed. They continued on their way, packs heavier and guns reloaded.

MacCready seemed refreshed after a good sleep on an actual bed, and was back at his incessant chatter.

“Alright so you’re not gonna yell at me any more, right? We know where we’re going? West from here, and then we’ll work our way south. We’re gonna have to be careful out there though,” he readjusted his gun, slinging it higher on his shoulder. “And not about the Gunners.”

She begrudgingly took the bait: “About what, then?”

“Deathclaws. You ever see a glowing deathclaw? That is not something we want to deal with.”

Victoria rolled her eyes and kept walking. The air was humid, and a sheen of sweat covered her whole body. The rain had wetted the soil enough to keep the dust down, but she still felt like she was covered in dirt and grime. Stomach growling, she shielded her eyes with her hand as she walked, surveying the horizon for any sign of danger. MacCready’s footsteps were light behind her, and they marched on for hours, the only other sign of life being a few stray dogs and the odd bird flying overhead. Unhampered by weather or enemies, they made good progress.

They passed through abandoned neighbourhoods and parks, skirting the borders of old disposal sites and rundown factories. In the distance, across the river, she could see Beantown Brewery, where Danse had once revealed to her that he did occasionally enjoy _a good beer_. A few more miles and she would see ArcJet, the location of the first mission she had gone on with Danse, and the first- and certainly not the last- time she had put his life in danger.

The afternoon sun blazed down on them and sweat dripped from Victoria’s hairline. The heat was beginning to wear on her more than ever; her hands began to shake and she grasped the straps of her backpack tightly. Head swimming, a wave of vertigo made her stumble. Closing her eyes, she pushed on, face scrunched in determination.

Even though she knew it was dangerous, Victoria forced MacCready to keep walking until well after nightfall. If it were up to her, she would have kept walking all night, but eventually he convinced her to stop for _“at least a few hours"._

The place they picked was under an old derelict bridge. It offered cover, and wasn’t too visible. She dumped her backpack on the ground with more force than intended, causing some of the contents to fly out onto the ground in front of her, and she could feel MacCready’s eyes on her as she gathered them up, muttering curses under her breath. She kept telling herself she wasn’t angry. She kept trying to keep herself from feeling angry. And she tried her damnedest not to take her anger out on Mac, but she knew she wasn’t doing a great job.

They set up a small campfire, and argued over who would take first watch. 

“Look, I know you don’t think I noticed that you didn’t sleep last night, but I did,” he stated, eyes reflecting the fire’s light as he stared her down.

Avoiding his gaze, she snapped: “I’m fine!”

“No you aren’t! You haven’t eaten since yesterday, you aren’t sleeping, and you’re running yourself into the ground. If you keep this up, you’re gonna die before we even get to the Gunners.”

Jaw clenched, she glared at him. 

MacCready kept scolding, unfazed: “Do you know how pissed Danse will be if I let that happen? I’d have to move to another country. That guy is terrifying when he’s mad. He could probably snap my neck just by looking at me!”

Victoria could feel a smile creeping up, and as hard as she tried to fight it, it emerged anyway. Mouth twitching, she quickly averted her gaze, staring into the orange flames.

“I know you’re scared and worried. And I know that me telling you he’s going to be fine probably isn’t helping at this point. We’re doing everything we can, and slowly killing yourself really isn’t going to help him.”

Victoria sighed. MacCready shuffled closer to her, offering a bottle of water and half a can of cram. She hesitated, but took them gratefully.

“Besides, he’s been through worse. Especially with you around.”

“Whatever,” she spat, elbowing him hard in the ribs. He yelped, and Victoria smiled to herself again. 

“I sure never thought _I’d_ be saving Paladin Danse.”

“Saving Paladin Danse,” she snorted, mouth half full. “It’s just like that old movie!”

MacCready looked at her, confused. “What?”

“Except it was Saving Private Ry… never mind.”

They sat, knees touching, and ate in comfortable silence.

A chill descended upon them as a cool breeze picked up, and Victoria set her food down to get some warmer clothing from her bag. Somehow MacCready always seemed to be a comfortable temperature in his signature green duster, and it was incredible to her. Rummaging through her bag, she hesitantly pulled out an old faded jacket, knocking a few other items out in the process. The jacket was heavy and brown, and had a rip in the left shoulder. She stared at it for a moment. 

It was one of Danse’s old coats, a bomber jacket he had received in his early days in the Brotherhood. It was one of the few items that had remained in his room onboard the Prydwen, and she had grabbed it before she left for Goodneighbor. It was the only luxury item she had brought with her, the only thing she hadn’t absolutely needed, and a small lump formed in her throat when she put it on. It still smelled like Danse, and although it was too big for her, it was comfortable and safe. 

Eyebrows creased, she began gathering the few items she had dropped.

“Why’re you hiding that box of snack cakes, hmm?” MacCready’s voice drifted over to her from his spot at the campfire.

“They’re for Danse, go away,” she muttered, stuffing the box of sweets back into her bag.

“Guy’s got a sweet tooth?”

She turned back to him. “He thinks I don’t know about it, but yes.”

Victoria stood in front of him in the oversized jacket, hands pulling on the insides of the sleeves. The light from the fire cast weird shadows around them.

“You love him,” MacCready gasped, eyes wide, as if he had just realized something extremely important. His mouth hung open as he gazed up at her, the can of cram in his hands completely forgotten.

“Shut your mouth,” she snapped, cheeks flushing. 

“Nah, nah, don’t try to deny it. I know that look!” MacCready was grinning from ear to ear, a teasing tone in his voice as he waved his fork at her. Staccato laughs started to come out of him in little bursts. “I knew it!”

“I said shut your mouth, Robert!” she grabbed the brim of his hat and shoved it down over his face. Dropping his food, he grabbed at her wrist with one hand and the front of her coat –Danse’s coat- with the other, still laughing. They wrestled, him trying to grab her, her trying to get away. Their shouts rang through the evening air. Her knees buckled and she landed on her hip beside him, still caught up in his grip.

In her feeble attempts to get out of his grasp, Victoria swung her arm up and accidentally smacked him in the face.

“Ow!”

They both stopped, gaping at each other with wide eyes. He put a hand on his cheek, an offended look on his face, while his other hand still clutched the front of her jacket. Hand twisted in his collar, she gawked at him a moment before bursting out laughing, cackling like a crazy old witch. 

“You are so mean,” MacCready pretended to sound hurt, bottom lip sticking out in a pout. It just made her laugh harder. 

MacCready smiled as he watched her. She looked ridiculous, lying on her back in the dirt wearing a jacket made for someone ten times her size, her scarred face smeared with dirt and sweat and grime but glowing with a radiant grin as she hooted with contagious laughter at his expense. She was probably the closest friend he had ever had aside from Lucy, and he was happy he could lift her dampened mood, if even for a little while. Her laughter finally subsided after what felt to him like hours, and she stayed on her back, hands folded over her stomach.

“Anyway, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he poked at the fire with a stick as he spoke. Victoria peered over at him. “I… I wish I still had someone to be in love with.”

She felt a twinge of guilt at his words. “…I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he smiled at her, eyes sad. After an awkward-feeling moment, he asked: “What’s your favorite thing about him?”

The question caught her off guard. She sat up, realizing she had never really thought about it.

“I… I don’t know. It sounds really cliché, but I guess… everything?” she winced, biting her tongue. “That sounds so lame.”

MacCready laughed. “Yeah, it does. I know the feeling though.”

“I love how strong and brave he is, how loyal and encouraging and good-”

“Alright, I get it-”

“-and big and strong, and did I say brave? And loyal-” Victoria leaned toward him, teasing, a grin on her face and eyes twinkling. He shoved her away, smirking. 

She wasn’t done: “I love his dumb face and his amazing hair and when he scolds me for things he gets that _tone_ in his voice, you know the one, and I can’t help but smile.”

“God you’re a sap.”

She guffawed. He shook his head, returning to his can of cram. They watched the fire for a while, neither feeling the urge to sleep. The coming days loomed ahead of them, and an impending feeling of doom went unspoken but shared.

“Hey Mac?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote 11,000 words of fanfiction just so I could make that reference.


	6. Day 8

The eighth day of their journey saw their arrival at Fort Hagen. Seeing as the place was infested with super mutants, they kept their distance, and consulted the map MacCready had been using. He knew the area well from his days with the Gunners, and revealed that the only place in the area that any Gunners operated from was Mass Pike Interchange, where she had helped him take down Winlock and Barnes. 

MacCready suggested that any Gunners remaining in that location would likely be much weaker without those two running the operation. Since MacCready figured it had been _‘Gunner rejects’_ that had taken Danse, he said it would be a good bet to look for him there. So that was where they headed.

“We don’t have time for that!” she shouted behind her: MacCready was rummaging through a wastebin. It was mid afternoon, and the heat of the day was at its peak. Somewhere nearby was a rotting corpse, and the foul scent caught on the light breeze that was sweeping northward. Grimacing, Victoria pulled the collar of her shirt up over her nose.

“Says the junk queen,” MacCready griped as he trotted to catch up. “I found some Radaway.”

He unzipped her bag while she continued walking and stuffed the medicine into it. Even with the food they had consumed during their journey, her bag was still full to the brim. There had even been a few decent miscellaneous items - _“It’s junk! Leave it!”_ \- she had found that she had had to leave behind, much to her own disappointment. However, she was still very glad she had brought the bomber jacket that belonged to Danse; even though she had endured nothing but mocking and snide remarks from MacCready since he had found out whose jacket it was.

Victoria could feel MacCready still silently holding onto her backpack, so she twisted her neck to glance behind her. She could only partly see his face, but she could tell he was giving her an odd look. He let go of her. They both stopped walking.

“You still have this?” Blue eyes shone under creased eyebrows as he searched her face. He was holding the small wooden soldier toy he had given her eons ago.

“Yeah,” she carefully took it from him. “It’s one of my only…” 

She paused. Running her thumb over the faded wood, she searched for the right words. “…it really meant a lot to me when you gave me this.”

They looked into each others eyes, both silent, both struggling to find a way to express themselves.

“Like, way more than any caps or valuables ever could.” Victoria felt a pang in her stomach and chest. She couldn’t entirely place the feeling, but she recognized it from the first time Nick had opened up to her after she helped him hunt down Eddie. She recognized it from the time she had cried into Hancock’s shoulder because she was frustrated and scared, and he had simply held her. She also recognized the feeling from every time she thought about Danse thanking her for not giving up on him. 

“You… why is it in your bag?”

“I always have it with me,” she took a sharp breath. “I thought about putting it on a chain so I could wear it around my neck but it’s too big. I kept it in my power armor for a bit, at first. I was afraid it would fall out though, so I started keeping it in my pack. I always have it.”

MacCready’s eyes were shining with what Victoria suspected might be tears.

She pulled him into a hug. He buried his face in her neck and squeezed his arms around her tightly. The sun beat down on them as they stood, embracing, in the eerie quiet of the middle of a busted up road among fallen down houses and dead trees. Victoria knew how vulnerable he was, how vulnerable they all were, but sometimes she forgot that MacCready had just as many demons as she. 

MacCready pulled away from her, subtly wiping his eyes and adjusting his hat. “Okay,” he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Let’s go save your weirdo synth boyfriend.”

Victoria scoffed and rolled her eyes, taking off her pack to put the wooden soldier safely away.

MacCready offered a slight smirk. “I know I ruined the moment but I really want to get this over with so I can have a beer.”

Victoria laughed. They continued walking.

\-----

An hour went by without any incident other than a stray feral dog that Victoria had begged MacCready not to shoot. He had shrugged and shot it anyway, earning himself a glare and a few minutes of silent treatment.

“Hold on, there’s movement up ahead.”

Hastily dodging behind a rusted out car, Victoria squinted, trying to make out who or what was moving up the road. MacCready slid his rifle off his shoulder and peered down the scope.

“Power armor,” he whispered. “Can’t see an insignia though.”

“Wait _a second_ ,” Victoria shot up from her hiding spot. MacCready’s head snapped towards her, eyes wide. “I helped some guys secure this spot right after the Prydwen showed up.”

MacCready groaned. “ _Another_ Brotherhood base?!”

“It’s just a checkpoint, quit whining.” 

MacCready let out another pointed groan, dragging his feet as he followed behind Victoria. As they approached the small warehouse, the guards raised their guns towards them. Victoria raised her hands, showing that she wasn’t armed, and made her way to the closest knight. He was wearing a suit of T-45 armor, and she saw a look of recognition on his face as she got nearer.

“Paladin,” the knight in power armor saluted, the metal of his suit glinting in the sunlight. He was not a soldier Victoria recognized.

“Has any of your team spotted any Gunners in the area?” she craned her neck back to make eye contact with him. Green eyes flickered between her and MacCready. As he took in the sight of them, Victoria realized how bedraggled and suspicious they must have looked; two dirty and sweaty twenty-somethings, one a lanky ex-Gunner in a green duster and crooked hat, the other an insubordinate Brotherhood Paladin who had recently threatened Elder Maxson, deserted and betrayed the crew, and assaulted one of their best knights. They were quite the pair to have show up at your doorstep, even without being privy to their colourful history.

“None other than the few operating from Mass Pike.” The knight sounded apprehensive. Victoria supposed he had a right to be.

“Alright thanks,” she said curtly, already resuming her fast paced walk. She went to make her way around the run down warehouse. Her stomach growled. Scents of gunpowder and sweat and the pungent odours of soldering and hot metal attacked her nostrils.

“Paladin? Paladin Winter!”

Victoria closed her eyes to hide an exasperated eye roll before turning to whoever had spoken her name. It was a scribe, one whose name she could not remember. They had done a scouting mission together what felt to Victoria like years ago, not long after she had first joined the Brotherhood.

The woman sauntered up to them, a young boy in toe. 

“Scribe!” Victoria feigned delight, attempting to hide her urgent need to move on. “How are things going out here?”

“It’s wonderful to see you!” the scribe smiled. “We are making a lot of progress out here! There is a wealth of technology around this area and our scouting missions are proving highly successful.”

Victoria stood stiffly, desperate to continue on her way. MacCready hovered awkwardly behind her.

“We are training many new recruits out here as well! This is Squire Willis,” the scribe gestured to the boy. “He’s here to decide if he would like to one day become a scribe. Squire, this is Paladin Winter.”

The child saluted, and Victoria offered a taut smile in response. If they were bothered by her not saluting, they did not show it.

“Paladin Winter worked closely with Paladin Danse and his team at the Cambridge Police Station, where you met Scribe Haylen,” the scribe informed the young squire. She was about to continue the impromptu lecture when she was beckoned by another member of the team. Deciding it was a good time to go, Victoria turned to leave as well. Suddenly, the squire spoke up:

“Paladin Danse was one of my heroes, like Elder Maxson!” he said enthusiastically. “What a rotten liar he was! I’m glad he’s gone!”

Victoria stopped dead in her tracks, slowly turning to look at the squire with a burning fire in her eyes. “What did you just say?”

“I said I’m glad he’s gone!”

Victoria took an abrupt step towards the child before MacCready quickly stepped in front of her, placing a hand on her chest and holding the front of her shirt.

“Whoa, Vee, he’s just a kid,” he hissed, voice low. His blue eyes were intent as he tried to catch her gaze.

“I don’t care,” she hissed back, he attempting to muscle her way past him. MacCready wouldn’t relent, and pushed her back, still holding the fabric of her top.

“Let it go,” he soothed. “You can’t fight every single person that says something bad about a friend.”

Her dark stare was intense as she glared into his eyes. “Watch me.”

In the time she had spent in her hissing match with MacCready, the squire had run off. Anger still burned inside her, and she glanced around for where the kid had gone.

Her jaw clenched. “He needs to-”

“Seriously Victoria, let it go! The kid’s like twelve. Are you seriously going to punch a twelve-year-old?”

Fists clenched, she jerked out of his grasp.

“Even though it might finally be a match you stand a chance to win,” he joked. Turning, she punched him in the gut. He let out an ‘ _oof!_ ’ and clutched his abdomen, staring at her in bewilderment. Grabbing the straps of her bag, she turned and marched away, resuming their course towards Mass Pike. Her pace was fast, and anger was boiling inside her. She could feel her eyes burning, and she felt an urge to break into a run. She did.

MacCready called out behind her. She kept running. 

She ran until her lungs ached and sweat poured from her forehead. Then she kept running.

MacCready was shouting her name, yelling at her to stop, but she didn’t.

She kept running until her foot caught on a tree root, and she toppled face first into the dusty dirt. Her body ached. Air seared her lungs. Tears stung at her eyes. 

A few moments later MacCready came to a stumbling stop beside her, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her up. “Jesus _Christ_ Victoria stop doing sh-stuff like that!”

“That fucking kid!” she yelled, falling forward onto her hands and knees. “He doesn’t know shit about Danse, _none_ of them do, and they all think he’s the goddamn villain!”

“Take a breath.”

“Fuck you.”

MacCready clenched his jaw. “Take a breath and drink some water, or I’m going to turn around and go back to Goodneighbor.”

She narrowed her eyes, glaring up at him. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. _And_ I’d tell Hancock about how you didn’t want his help.”

Victoria scowled. “You wouldn’t!”

“Yes, _I would_. And I wouldn’t even care that you still carry that wood toy around. Now drink,” he shoved a bottle of purified water in her face. Moving to sit, she snatched it from him. Cracking the lid open, she gulped down half of the bottle as he stood above her and silently watched.

“That’s messed up though. Were you really gonna punch that kid?”

“I wasn’t going to hit him, you jerk. I can’t believe you think I would do something like that,” she screwed the lid back onto the bottle, wiping sweat and dirt from her face. “I may not like kids, but I’m not a monster.”

He took the bottle from her and returned it to his own small rucksack, watching her try to catch her breath. “Take five minutes, pretend you punched that kid or whatever, and then let’s go. We’re not far from Mass Pike.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is mostly written so it should be up soon.
> 
> I promise it will be far more exciting than this, but I was playing the game and some squire said that to me about Danse so I had to add it in.


	7. Day 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victoria and MacCready reach Mass Pike Interchange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence and mild gore.

The ninth day of their journey saw their arrival at Mass Pike Interchange. They stopped about a mile away to make their plans and await nightfall. 

The spot they had chosen was a small alcove in the rock. A short cliff was at their backs, rising above them and casting them in shadow. They had a few hours to wait until darkness fell. While MacCready sorted through supplies and drew up a plan, Victoria stared down the barrel of his rifle, trying to figure out how many Gunners they would have to deal with. She had counted at least four who appeared to be on watch, pacing up and down the sides of the overpass and rotating between guard towers. She couldn’t see into their camp from her spot below. There was no telling how many of them were under the cover of the overpass.

She lowered the gun. Her eye twitched, muscles sore from squinting.

“I’m assuming the dude in the armor is a commander,” Victoria whispered. She could make out a large man in green combat armor up above, talking to one of the conscripts.

MacCready glanced at her. “Likely.”

“They sure don’t bother hiding. That skull symbol is everywhere. Talk about advertisement.” She returned to the rifle scope.

“It deters a lot of people,” MacCready muttered. 

A couple hours passed. The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon. MacCready offered Victoria a portion of pork ‘n beans, and she ate it with shaking hands. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she tried to control her ragged breathing. MacCready was calm, and if he was at all worried about what awaited them, he did not show it.

The last rays of the sun disappeared. They made their move.

Quietly, they ran down the rest of the embankment. MacCready led the way, and Victoria followed close behind, gripping her backpack strap with her left hand and her pistol with her right. They dodged behind trees whenever it looked like a guard was turned their direction. Finally, they reached their destination; a section of road surrounded by concrete barricades, a couple hundred feet from the bottom of Mass Pike. It gave them direct access to the busiest side of the overpass, as well as enough cover to launch their attack.

Settled behind one of the barricades, MacCready to Victoria's left, they watched the few Gunners above. Victoria held her breath as MacCready lined up the first shot.

The ear-splitting _crack!_ of his gun echoed and one of the Gunners toppled over the edge of the bridge. At the same moment, Victoria and MacCready ducked behind the barrier, silently waiting. There was a faint commotion as the group above scanned the area, and MacCready popped back up over the barricade to line up another shot.

_Crack!_

Another Gunner went down, and this time his death was accompanied by shouts. The pair stayed hidden as MacCready reloaded his gun.

_Crack!_

He missed. The bullet hit metal and bounced off.

_Crack!_

He missed again. MacCready dropped and put his back to the barrier, holding his rifle across his chest. A few bullets whizzed their way, the Gunners shooting wildly into the darkness. Silence fell. Slowly, Victoria rose up to peer over the edge.

“They’re all looking this way,” she whispered. There were now six of them, urgently pacing up and down the side of the bridge, searching for who had shot their comrades.

“I know,” MacCready said, repositioning his rifle. 

He fired two shots in quick succession, one of them hitting the target. The Gunner collapsed. More shots rang out, accompanied by frenzied shouting. MacCready hurriedly fired another shot before ducking down. 

Bullets hit their barricade. They had been spotted.

The flurry of shots that rained down on them was overwhelming. A moment of reprieve saw MacCready rising above the barrier, and this time Victoria joined him. Her pistol had enough of a range to be useful, but she still was not sure if she had the courage to fire a shot. She aimed her gun with quaking hands as MacCready fired more shots. Bullets bounced off their barricade and flew past them with alarming accuracy. Victoria’s finger found the trigger. She sucked in a breath, barrel lined up with one of the men above. She fired.

And missed.

Grunting, she moved to the right, away from MacCready, and lined up another shot. She leaned on the barrier to steady her aim, and fired again. The scent of gunpowder filled her nostrils and she wrinkled her nose. She hadn’t seen where her shot had landed, so she readjusted to try again, squinting in the darkness.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Victoria shrieked. She felt the searing pain the bullet left in her upper arm before her ears even registered the gunshot. Whipping around, back to the barricade they were hiding behind, she slid to the ground, hand gripping her arm like a vice. Her head spun. Bullets whizzed and ricocheted past them as shouts rained down on them from above. 

The chaos continued around her. Sounds beginning to muffle, she stared at the starry sky with hazy eyes. Thick, warm blood trickled past her fingers and oozed down her arm.

MacCready hurtled to his knees beside her, and shoved her bloody hand out of the way. After a quick inspection of the wound, he ripped the cloth belt from his pants and hastily cinched it around her upper arm.

“It just grazed you,” he assured, a calculated urgency in his movements. His eyebrows were creased. He’d lost his hat somewhere amidst the fighting, and his brown hair stood on end. Victoria stared dazedly at his face as it blurred into something it was not.

_“Huh?” she could hear him speaking, but her attention was weaving in and out. Danse’s stern face suddenly came into her field of vision._

_“I said: it simply grazed you. You will be quite alright.”_

_The stray bullet that had hit her leg had initially felt to her like a mortal wound. Danse had rushed over, concern written clearly on his face, and ordered she sit while he hurriedly checked the damage. The look of exasperation he had given her upon realizing the bullet had only scraped a small laceration into the side of her calf had sobered her slightly, but not enough for her to not play it up:_

_“No, I’m actually pretty sure I’m gonna die.”_

_Victoria could tell he was holding back a sigh._

_“Knight, I can assure you that you will not die from a mere superficial flesh wound.”_

_“’Tis but a scratch!” she exclaimed, feeling loopy from the adrenaline pumping through her. Danse frowned and narrowed his eyes, clearly becoming more and more irritated. He moved to get up._

_“Wait!” she blurted, grabbing for his arm. He looked startled, and returned to his squatting position in front of her. “I… don’t go. Please?”_

_“I… was simply going to return this medical kit to my pack.”_

_She glanced over to his bag, sitting neatly a few feet away. Her cheeks burned._

_“Oh,” she muttered._

“Ouch!” her head snapped back around to try and see what had stabbed her.

“It’s just some Med-X, calm down,” MacCready threw the needle away and readjusted his rifle. “We don’t have time for this. You need to get up. There’s about five Gunners up there still shooting at us in case you hadn’t noticed.”

He returned to his position, and she to hers. She felt woozy and ill. The Med-X took away some of the pain, but did nothing to help her nausea. She felt detached from her own body as she aimed her gun again at the bridge above them.

Neither of them saw the bullet that ricocheted into the fuel tank of one of the rusted old vehicles up on the overpass, but the resulting explosion was enough to knock them to the ground. Fire exploded suddenly and illuminated the night sky in brilliant yellows and oranges. Flames danced and debris flew. Lying on her back, Victoria’s ears rang. She could feel the heat as she sat up, and she stared above with wide eyes, body frozen in fear and amazement.

Screams could be heard over the roaring inferno. Victoria swallowed thickly. Any Gunners that had survived the initial blast, likely would not survive the conflagration for much longer. Fear and guilt squeezed at her lungs and coated her body in a cold sweat.

They both flinched as another car caught fire and exploded, and shielded themselves from the flying wreckage crashing down around them. Scrambling to their barrier, Victoria and MacCready huddled together, hunched down, covering their heads with their arms. There was another loud bang, followed by some crashing, and then a series of smaller explosions, one right after the other. The sound was immense. Victoria figured it was likely spare missiles or other type of cartridge exploding from the heat. Victoria thought she heard MacCready swear.

The fire raged. Just as it seemed to be settling, and they peeked their heads above their barricade, one final truck exploded in the loudest show of them all. The energy from the boom resonated through Victoria’s body and she shouted, grabbing for MacCready’s arm as it seized her around the waist while his body collided with hers. The force of the blast blew out one of the load bearing beams on the overpass, and what was left of the ceiling over the Gunner’s camp collapsed onto the road floor below. The smashing and crunching was deafening and lasted far longer than she felt it should have. Flames shot up from where the structure fell into itself, and this time, Victoria definitely heard MacCready swear.

The screams from above had stopped, and eventually the fire calmed into a steady, dull roar. Slowly, the pair rose on shaking legs, stunned into silence. Amazingly, the overpass was still standing. 

They stood, side by side, still as statues, watching the fire above them burn.

“Well that was subtle.” 

“I’m pretty sure the entire Commonwealth saw that.”

“I really fucking hope Danse wasn’t up there.”

Rushing the distance to bridge, they quickly boarded the rickety makeshift elevator that would bring them up to the overpass. It shook and groaned as it ascended, and Victoria was almost vibrating with fear and worry. The short trip offered an amazing view of the Commonwealth; it stretched for miles and was framed by the star-filled dusk sky. It was a stark contrast to the ruin they had caused, and the view was amazing so long as they ignored the raging inferno above them.

MacCready suddenly snorted. “Everyone back on board the Prydwen right now is going: ‘Well, there’s Knight Winter! At it again, blowing everything up!’”

“I’m a Paladin now, asshole.”

The elevator came to a crunching halt when they reached the top. Victoria almost fell as she got off, her body trembling. MacCready grabbed her arm to help her off, and they slowed to a stop.

The overpass was utter destruction. 

The fire was still raging. The heat brought sweat to their skin. Everything around them was seared black, and as Victoria looked down, she saw the charred remains of one of the Gunners, scorched face twisted in an image of the agony they had endured. Victoria slapped her hand over her mouth and hastily looked away, eyes watering and stomach churning. More debris crumpled to the ground as the fire burned through the wood of the Gunner’s camp, sparks and ash shooting into the night sky.

A choked gurgle emanated from somewhere near a far wall of the overpass. Cautiously, the pair made their way towards it. Stepping over chunks of wood and scrap metal and blown up fragments of automobile, and weaving their way around severed body parts and thick puddles of blood, they approached the source of the noise.

When Victoria saw the body of a man with dark hair slumped against the wall, she instantly dropped her gear and broke into a run. MacCready followed close behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally longer but I split it into 2 parts.


	8. Day 9 Continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for blood, some gore, and vomiting in this chapter. Nothing too detailed.

“Danse?!” she called, horror and dread consuming her. “Oh my god, Danse!”

_“Oh my god, are you okay?!” She’d killed him. She was sure of it. There was no way anyone could have survived that reactor explosion. Synth carnage littered the room._

She stopped paying attention to what she was stepping on. Debris crunched and squelched under her boots. Smoke burned her eyes.

_“Oh my god,” she looked away. It was the worst laceration she had ever seen: A deep gash that ran from his sixth or seventh rib, in an arc down to his abdomen. It was bleeding heavily._

She tripped, catching herself on an overturned steamer trunk, seared black from the explosion. The trunk was hot, and the contact left black soot and burns on her hands. She did not notice.

_“Oh my god.” She hadn’t even seen the grenade until Danse had shoved her to the ground, landing on top of her and shielding her from the blast._

Tears started to well in her eyes. The air was sharp in her lungs.

_“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. He stiffened, before warily placing his hands on her back. “I’m so glad you’re okay!”_

As she approached, her frantic run gradually decelerated until she stopped completely. Heart pounding in her ears, Victoria hovered a few feet away from the body and stared, mixed feelings of relief and distress swirling within her. 

It wasn’t Danse. 

Somehow, one of the Gunners had survived the explosion. In the position he was, it seemed likely that he had been shielded by the crude structures of their camp. It seemed unlikely he would survive much longer, however; shrapnel had torn through much of his body, and it appeared as if a particularly large piece had perforated his abdomen. Blood oozed out in a sickening, steady stream. 

The man looked to be about thirty. He was classically handsome, save for a scar that ran from his bottom lip to his chin. Dark hair stuck to his sweat covered forehead and hung into twinkling blue eyes. His Gunner fatigues were torn and blackened, but the emblem on his chest was still fully recognizable; a menacing reminder of whom they were dealing with. Blood covered his teeth and trickled past his lips when he gave them a sinister grin.

Victoria and MacCready loomed over him for a few moments. Victoria tried to ignore the queasy feeling knotting up her insides. She wiped her eyes.

Steeling herself, Victoria got down on her knees, eye-level with the dying Gunner. It was obvious he would not be able to move, and his hand clutched his stomach a fraction tighter as she moved into his personal space. The air was hot and thick and smelled of smoke and seared metal. The still-burning fire crackled around them.

“Where is he?”

There was silence, and then a wheezing chuckle. “Who?”

As a response, MacCready swiftly bashed him on the forehead with the butt of his rifle. The man groaned as his head hit the concrete wall behind him. Victoria jumped. Lips pursed, she glanced at her companion in unease.

Nudging the man’s leg with his foot, MacCready said: “Look, you’re going to die from these injuries either way, so you might as well tell us what we need to know. Where is he?”

“You’re g-gonna have to be… more specific,” the last few words came out as a forceful whisper. The man’s eyes were closed, his head leaned back against the concrete wall. He was in pain, but still had a slight arrogant smirk on his bloodied face.

She was losing patience: “The man your crew kidnapped. The soldier.”

A rasping, guttural laugh burst from the man’s throat. It was a harsh cut to the still air. Victoria flinched away from him, alarmed. 

Suddenly, piercing blue eyes locked onto hers. A chill ran down her spine. “We don’t kidnap people, lady.”

“Bullshit.”

Another wheezing laugh. “What’s the point… in t-taking hostages when you can just kill th-them instead? We’re mercenaries, not b-babysitters.”

The words hung in the air and stabbed at her insides like a hot prong. Victoria was confused, the words taking a long time to register in her mind. She stared at the Gunner, not really seeing, but staring, as his malicious sneer gazed back at her. She was unwilling, and unable, to believe that they had traveled so far, and so long, for nothing.

MacCready was talking, but his words were muffled as if she was suddenly underwater. Victoria’s vision started to blur. She was in a daze; the only thing consuming her thoughts was defeat. They had failed.

A muffled gunshot rang out beside her and she hazily saw the man’s head explode, followed by a hand gripping her arm and pulling her up. Everything felt to her as if it was happening in slow motion. The air was suffocating. Nothing felt real.

MacCready’s face was in front of hers, surrounded by a halo of fire. His lips were moving, but she still couldn’t hear him.

“We failed,” she muttered, to herself, to MacCready, to no one in particular, as the gravity of the situation fully sank in. “We failed.”

Slowly, MacCready’s voice came back into her awareness. He was gripping her shoulders tight, and shaking her. “…-have a sit, regroup, and go from there, okay? I’m going to look for any supplies that might be left, and then we’ll go.”

Still reeling, she nodded and stumbled away from him, back towards the edge where the lift was that had brought them up. Her legs shook. She warily avoided the flames and burnt scrap littering the overpass. When she reached up with unsteady hands to brush the hair out of her face, she saw the scorch marks on her palm and winced. Her head began to swim and a cold sweat covered her body.  
The carnage around her remained unnoticed as crumpled to her knees, leaned over the side of the overpass, and vomited. Any bit of energy she had had left her body, and she weakly laid down, world spinning around her.

She had no idea how much time passed before MacCready was at her side, shoving an opened bottle of purified water in her face. She groggily pushed it away.

Mouth set in a firm line, MacCready gripped her arm. She wasn’t sure if he’d meant to grab the exact spot where the bullet had grazed her in their fire fight before the explosion, but she yelped in pain as he hoisted her off the ground. 

“Get up.”

“ _Ow_ what the fu-”

“I said get _up_.” He roughly seized the back of her shirt and pushed her into the box of the lift. She stumbled and hit the far railing with her hip, crying out weakly in pain at both the bruise inducing collision and the burning pain in her hands. 

When she looked back at him to give him a reprimand, she did a double take and changed her mind. He looked angry. Properly angry.

He avoided her gaze as the elevator made its descent, and when it finally reached the ground with a worrying lurch, he kicked the ramp down and marched off. Hesitant, she tiredly followed behind him to the alcove in the cliff where they had left their packs. She was already planning their trip back to Sanctuary; she figured they had enough food left to get them there, and she would be glad to at least have her wounds treated. It would be a few days’ travel, and her heart was heavy as she imagined telling her other companions that they had failed. Perhaps if she had told Nick or Hancock her plans, things would have turned out differently. Instead, she had kept it a secret, and two kids in their early twenties attempted a rescue that was way too far over their inexperienced heads.

The light wind ruffled her hair as she stood and watched him gather up their things, an angry and determined look on his young face.

“We’ll continue south, there are a few-”

“Mac, it’s done,” she lamented. “It’s over. We’re out of time.”

He stood up so suddenly it caused her to jump back. Grabbing the collar of her shirt, he thrust her back into the rock face of the cliff. Rattled, she stared at him with wide eyes, rendered speechless by his sudden aggression.

“I did _not_ come this far to have you give up,” he snarled. “We are _not_ out of time, and you are _not_ turning back now.”

She continued her bewildered stare.

“Not after all of this. We’ve come this far, and you want to just stop? To give up?” Even in the dim light she could see his face was red. There were soot marks on his cheeks streaked with sweat, and his short hair stood on end. “Because if you do you’ll be the one responsible for Danse’s death. Could you live with that? Are you going to let him die just because of a little set back? Is that what the Brotherhood taught you? What _he_ taught you?”

MacCready must have seen the hurt expression on her face, because he let go of her shirt and stepped back. She kept her back against the rock face.

He took a breath. “We’ve still got five days. We’ve still got time. We’re not giving up.”

Bending over he took up her knapsack and thrust it into her abdomen. She clutched it to her chest, still too startled to speak.

“We’ll go south. Just because it wasn’t this group of Gunners doesn’t mean it wasn’t another.”

“He said they don’t kidnap peop-”

“Vic, I was a Gunner. There are plenty of Gunners who don’t play by the rules. Let’s go before the sun comes up and people realize what we just did.”


	9. Night of day 10

MacCready had fallen asleep on the hard packed ground hours ago, head on his now half-empty bag, and back pointedly turned to her. They had shared few words over the day since the incident at the overpass, but MacCready’s apparent anger was more unnerving than his silence. Victoria watched his torso gently rise and fall with each breath, his body only partially lit by the slowly dying embers of their evening fire. After not sleeping the night before, they had stopped to set up camp earlier than usual. Victoria had trudged behind him the entire day, lost in thought and not paying attention to where MacCready was leading her, so when he had stopped for the night she had simply stopped with him. Arguing would have been pointless, and in her current state Victoria thought the entire rest of the mission would be pointless. What little rest Victoria had been able to find during the first part of their trip due to anticipation and determination had gradually been dwindling, and now it was fear and guilt that gripped at her and kept her from sleeping.

She could not remember when she had first realized she loved Danse; it hadn’t hit her like a ton of bricks, and it certainly hadn’t been love at first sight. 

The moment she met Danse, her first thought had been _‘Oh god, not one of these’_. She knew the type. The way he barked out orders and held himself haughtily had caused Victoria an involuntary eye roll and sigh, and she had been lucky enough to not have been facing him when it happened. The authoritarian, military type had never been her preferred company. 

But nonetheless, she had been roped into helping him with the mission at ArcJet. When they parted afterwards, she had sincerely expected to never set eyes on him again. But she had. Many times. Eventually, she found herself gravitating towards him, and always coming back to him. 

Somehow, she had ended up joining the Brotherhood of Steel. Somehow, she had ended up in way over her head, fighting a war that she had never condoned in the first place. But somehow, none of that had mattered. As long as Danse was in her line of sight, she would have gone anywhere.

Victoria had come to depend on him, and to trust him, but on the surface it had seemed like that had come as part of the job. Danse was her commanding officer, and it was his duty to make sure she and her fellow comrades were safe. The way her chest clenched when he put himself in danger for her had registered in her mind as gratitude and respect.

She had never probed past the surface of her feelings and realized that her heart would momentarily stop beating out of fear and adoration, not appreciation.

The fear she felt any time she came close to being killed paled in comparison to the terror that gripped her anytime she thought Danse was in peril. It felt wrong when they were apart. She had never truly understood the idea of wanting to be with someone forever, but she had slowly come to realize that should would not want to live without Danse.

Not only that she would not want to live without him, but that she couldn’t.

Sitting alone in the darkness staring at the glowing embers of the fire, all of the emotion that had been whirling inside her finally bubbled over. Tears began to spill from her eyes, and she buried her face in the crook of her elbow as she was reduced to quiet sobs. It had been a long time since Victoria had cried, and now that she had started, she couldn’t stop. Hugging her knees to her chest she cried, sniffs and sobs the only sound breaking the quiet night air. 

_“Man, I can’t believe this place hasn’t been completely ransacked,” Victoria bemused. They been making their way through Beantown Brewery, searching for some kind of tech for the Scribes. It had been located in a steamer trunk on the top floor, and after clearing the remaining enemies, the had stopped briefly in a large, semi-intact room. Their mission had gone well, and they had been promised a day’s break once they completed their task._

_Victoria picked up a full, un-opened bottle of beer from a crate on a metal trolley and studied it. The bottle was one of many that filled the wooden crates scattered around the old building._

_“I do, occasionally, enjoy a good beer,” Danse commented in passing._

_Eyebrows raised, Victoria turned to him, a grin slowly spreading across her face. His expression set in stone never changed except for a small, barely noticeable twitch in his jaw._

_“Let’s have a drink then, sir,” she smiled as she grabbed another bottle from the trolley._

_“That is hardly appropriate.”_

_“Why not? We did the mission without a hitch, and tomorrow is a day off anyways,” she persuaded, shifting her weight and cocking out a hip._

_His jaw clenched, eyebrows creased. “We are still required to return the technology to the police station. Our day off does not begin until we do so.”_

_“Come on Dansey, we’re not heading back until dawn anyways. We’ve got a few hours until then, one beer isn’t going to hurt.”_

_Lips pursed, Danse took a slow inwards breath and held it for a few moments. Victoria knew she was testing his patience, but her desire to see the Paladin relaxed trumped any care she had of reprimand._

_“Just one?” she smiled hopefully. “Maybe two?”_

_The strong jaw clenched and unclenched._

_“Early celebration? And I’ll leave you alone on your day off?”_

_He sucked in a breath and looked away, glare shifting to the wall._

_“Sorry for calling you Dansey?”_

_The glare flicked back to her. “Fine. One drink.”_

_She had to physically stop herself from jumping with excitement, but allowed her small pleading smile to spread into a full-blown grin. Victoria grabbed the crate of beers and nearly skipped over to the table and bench sets built into the far wall, remains from when the building had entertained many customers. Sitting down on the hard red bench, Victoria swept debris and old plates off of the table and onto the floor with a louder crash than intended. She set one beer on the other side for Danse, and took one for herself._

_While Danse carefully exited his power armor, Victoria inspected the brown bottle. In truth, she had never had a beer before. The smell had been enough for her to decide that she had no interest in the foul liquid, but she figured that now it couldn’t be much worse than any other beverage currently in existence. Hoping the cap was a screw-on, she attempted to twist it. The lid was in fact not a screw-on, and she realized she had no way of opening it._

_“Were you going to try to open that with your hands?” Danse was standing beside his armor, watching her. He had ruffled his thick hair after taking off his hood; it was messy, and stood up in the front. She tried not to stare._

_“No,” she answered quickly, looking away. “I mean, I probably could if I wanted to. I’m pretty strong.”_

_Danse closed his eyes for a moment, she suspected to hide an eye roll, and approached the table. He took the bottle she had set out for him, and held a hand out expectantly towards her. Confused, she carefully handed him the bottle. Danse moved back to his armor, slightly out of her sight. A moment later, she heard the familiar crack and hiss of a bottle being opened, followed by another. He bent to pick up the bottle caps, then returned to the table and sat, handing her a now-opened bottle._

_“How did you do that?”_

_“I told you: I do occasionally enjoy a good beer.”_

_She bit her lip and looked down at the table, a smile crinkling her eyes. Her heart was beating a touch faster than normal._

_Danse took a slow drink from his bottle, and she peeked up at him. He didn’t notice her stare as he studied the room around them. The dim lighting around them cast shadows that defined the muscles in his arms, and with his messy hair and slight beginnings of a stubble dusting his face, Victoria realized how truly beautiful he was. Her breath caught._

_Sighing, and still unawares of the awed look on Victoria’s face, the Paladin leaned back into the backrest of the bench. To cover the redness that she was sure was becoming obvious on her face, Victoria took a swig from her beer. She nearly choked at the taste, grimacing as she swallowed the yeasty liquid._

_The look on Danse’s face could have been described as slightly bemused. “Not partial to beer?”_

_Victoria coughed, and wheezed: “I’m more of a whiskey man myself.”_

_Danse narrowed his eyes. “…You’re a woman.”_

_“Never mind,” she shook her head._

_Silence came back over them. Danse stared at the table, occasionally taking a drink, and Victoria watched him. After a while, her own drink untouched, she had an idea._

_“We could do a drinking game,” she sat forward and smirked, wiggling an eyebrow at him._

_“I would prefer to drink in relative silence.”_

_Frowning, she slumped down in the corner where the bench met wall._

_“You’re no fun,” she mumbled, crossing her arms. Pouting, she stared at the far wall. Old shelves and faded posters hung on the dirty metal and concrete. Layers of dust had long ago settled on every surface._

_After a few moments of quiet, the Paladin sighed in resignation and leaned forward. “What does this… drinking game entail?”_

_Victoria beamed. “Have you ever played one?”_

_“I have been… present while others played.”_

_Victoria sat forward again, and furrowed her brow questioningly._

_“Some of the newer recruits liked to play similar games but I never paid attention to the details. Being a commanding officer does not allow for such luxuries.”_

_“You never played any drinking games with Kells? Or Quinlan?”_

_His only answer was a deadpan stare. Victoria smirked. Then, she had to bite her lip as she came too close to making a comment about how she doubted he had never played any drinking games with Cutler, and was relieved she had caught herself before making that kind of blunder._

_“Okay well since we don’t have any cards or shows to watch… people used to always play never have I ever.”_

_“What is that?” Danse looked hesitant. She supposed he had a right to be. She was nervous herself; her hands had begun to shake a bit and she hid them under the table._

_“So, one person says ‘never have I ever’ done a certain thing, and if either of us have done it they have to drink. So like, if I say ‘never have I ever punched a super mutant in the face’, then you have to drink because you’ve done that, but I don’t drink because I haven’t.”_

_Danse appeared confused._

_“And then you could say something like ‘never have I ever been frozen in a vault’, and I would have to drink because I have. It’s a good way to get to know people.”_

_The look on his face was not any more reassuring._

_“You can learn some new things about your favorite Knight,” she smirked jokingly. He made no objections, or any kind of indication really, so she continued: “I’ll start. Never have I ever… fired a mini-gun.”_

_There was a pause where his eyes narrowed a few times, and then he slowly brought the bottle to his lips and took a drink. She smiled._

_“It’s because I’m not strong enough to lift one but that’s beside the point. Your turn.”_

_Dark eyebrows creased. “Never have I ever… been yelled at by a CO.”_

_“Rude,” she joked, taking a drink. “You’re the only one who yells at me.”_

_“I seem to recall Elder Maxson yelling at you on more than one occasion.”_

_“…True.”_

_“And Kells.”_

_“Oh yeah that time I was fucking around and almost fell out of the vertibird!” she laughed, remembering how angry Danse and Kells had been. “Okay, okay, my turn. Never have I ever… been drunk.”_

_He paused. “You’ve never been drunk?”_

_“Nope,” she shook her head. “I was a party-pooper like you when I was younger. Before, you know, the end of the world and stuff.”_

_He took a drink._

_“Wow… Paladin Danse drunk?” She made sure the astonishment and interest rang through her words._

_“I was younger at one point too.”_

_“What! No you weren’t. You were probably born at like, thirty. You’ve always been an old, grumpy, Paladin.”_

_“I am not old.”_

_“Nah, you were definitely born old, bucko.” She grinned, but he didn’t look amused. Fearing she may have ruined the moment, she added: “I’m just giving you a hard time. Sir. It’s your turn.”_

_There was silence, and Victoria’s noticed again how fast her heart was beating._

_Eventually, he spoke. “Never have I ever… watched a moving picture show.”_

_She carefully took a swig, watching his face. It made her sad that he had never seen a movie before._

_“You know, I asked Sturges to fix up the projector at Starlight Drive In. Maybe on one of our days off we can go watch one.”_

_“That would… be enjoyable.”_

_Victoria smiled at the thought. Her cheeks reddened again as she watched him. Her little success at getting him to accept a beer had turned into some new, honest, willingly divulged information about her usually quiet and stern CO. Not only was he the most beautiful man Victoria had ever laid eyes on, but he was also the kindest and most caring, in his own way._

_They continued their game, Victoria finally being successful in convincing Danse to start on their second drinks. They shared an equal amount of have and have nots, and Danse had even smiled a few times. She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually, their second drinks were finished. Victoria was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol, and had gotten significantly more giggly as time went on. Danse had become more relaxed, as well as increasingly candid._

_Victoria thought that perhaps this was the best night she had ever had. Inhibitions reduced, it was her turn again._

_“Never have I ever… been in love with someone,” she said quickly, without thinking. Her cheeks flushed darker, and her heart started to pound in her chest. She regretted it instantly, feeling stupid, and fearing what his reaction would be._

_His arm twitched, and her heart sank as she thought he was going to take a drink. His dark eyes locked with hers, and she couldn’t quite decipher the odd look that was on his face. A moment passed, and he still hadn’t taken a sip. His normally stern features had softened, and his eyes searched her face, lips parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Her chest tightened and she felt a heat coil in her stomach._

_She wanted to reach out and touch him, touch his arm, his hand, any part of him, but she couldn’t. Wouldn’t._

_He took a breath. “I-”_

_A loud crackle sounded out in the quiet room, interrupting whatever the Paladin was about to say and causing both of them to start. Victoria almost knocked over her drink in her surprise, and Danse shot forward, glancing around the room. A moment later he leaned forward on his elbows, head bowed._

_It was the radio inside his armor; someone from Cambridge had called to check up on them, and their static garbled voice filled the room._

_Sighing, Danse said: “We should go.”_

_He moved to get up, and she felt her eyes begin to sting. Disappointment shredded her insides and she clenched her hands into fists, the pain keeping her from showing any of the ache she was feeling._

_She tactfully rubbed her eyes with the back of her fists and got up. “Yeah.”_

She never found out who had radioed them, but Danse had been awkward from that moment forward. Their shared moment in Beantown Brewery had never been mentioned, or even acknowledged, and Victoria resented it for weeks. Not long after, it had gotten out that Danse was a synth, and he had been on the run. 

Even after their moment on the riverbank nearly two weeks ago, she had not had the chance to tell Danse how much she truly cared for him. How much he meant to her, and how she had no idea how she would survive without him.

Her sobs grew louder and she buried her face into her knees, wishing she had at least gotten the chance to tell him she loved him.

If MacCready heard her, he made no movement to show it. Either he was still sleeping, or ignoring her.


	10. Day 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have risen from the depths of hell. Sorry for the extremely, impossibly, stupidly long wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Possible warnings for hints (but no explicit mention) of suicide/ready to die type stuff.

Bloodshot eyes watched dirty, scuffed boots take one step after another on dusty, hardpacked soil. Scattered brown, dead grass provided little cushioning, and scraps of plastic, glass, shattered bones and scraps of cloth made for a difficult pace. She wasn’t sure who those feet belonged to, but she was sure they weren’t hers. Those feet had travelled too far, for too long, and they looked unfamiliar. Everything looked unfamiliar. She wasn’t sure where she had truly lost herself, but the determined, hopeful girl that had stood up to Maxson, thrown a Brotherhood knight on his ass, run from the Prydwen to Goodneighbor in power armor, and admitted her deepest secrets to a man she had considered a close friend, was gone. That girl was a far away, barely-there memory. That girl had been replaced by a dried up husk of a person. A person that had failed too many times, but had just taken too long to realize it.

She had been foolish. She had been idealistic. But like in the old movies, the ones she promised to show Danse, she had thought she could never lose. She was the protagonist in her own story; the hero who could, and would, save the day and come out the other side unscathed.

Not soon enough, but eventually, reality had caught up with her. It didn’t just smack her in the face. No. It picked her up, beat her down, ran her over, and left her for dead. It just hadn’t had the courtesy to do it before she got hopeful. 

Distantly, she realized those _were_ her own boots she was watching. They were new, and old at the same time. The old her may have been gone, but the part of her that was following MacCready still existed. It existed on autopilot, but existed nonetheless. Maybe that was all she was good for, after all.

She didn’t know where they were, nor how they had gotten there. She didn’t know what time it was, when she had last eaten, or even how long they had been out on this fruitless hunt. The days blended into one, but it was all irrelevant anyway. She had stopped caring the moment her optimism exploded along with that overpass.

Deep down, she had always known this mission was impossible. She knew MacCready had thought so too. He had made no attempts to hide it. And yet, he was the one who kept going. Despite every set back, every failure, every part of him willing him to stop, he kept going. For her sake, of course, but also for his own. 

He wanted to succeed as much as she did. He had something to prove. One small chance to finish something, for once. One chance not to quit. And with his track record, he figured he should take it. Even if it meant getting killed in the process.

At least he could finally do something good with his life.

“There.” It was the first word he had spoken since shouting at her after the debacle at the overpass. She had given up, and truthfully, nothing in his life had ever pissed him off more. Not Lucy getting killed, not Duncan getting sick, not even all the annoyances with those assholes he had called comrades when he ran with the Gunners. He had never been angrier in his life than the moment he physically witnessed the hope and determination drain from her body. While he told himself he was angry with her for giving up, part of him knew he was also angry with himself for being wrong. She trusted him, and he failed. It was becoming too much of a habit.

He had heard her crying that night while he pretended to sleep, and her eyes had still been red and wet that morning as he packed up his bag and set off without a word. He hadn’t cared if she followed him. He didn’t need her. He had something to prove, and he would prove it whether or not she was there to witness it.

“There,” he repeated, as she gained the ground she had lost and got nearer to him. She looked pathetic, if he was honest. Dirty, dragging her feet, no emotion on her face, and nothing in her eyes. Anger twinged in him again. “That warehouse. It’s an old electrical plant or something.”

When he looked at her, expecting an answer, she mumbled out a weak: “Okay?”

He rolled his eyes and grit his teeth. “Gunners hold up here regularly. I’m going to check it out. You can do whatever the hell you want. If you decide to stop feeling sorry for yourself for two seconds, I’ll be over there.”

With that, he strode off, heading towards a rock face that would provide an excellent outlook. Victoria followed, more so out of habit than desire. 

The climb was more difficult than usual. The heat was taking a real toll, and coupled with her inability to sleep or eat, she was running on fumes. That morning when MacCready wasn’t looking, she had tossed most of their food to lighten her pack, figuring there would be no need for it soon enough. But even with fewer items, her backpack didn’t feel any less heavy. It dragged her down. The heat dragged her down. The despair dragged her down. She was minutes away from giving into it and just lying down; that was where everything seemed to want her to be anyway. And this time, she didn’t think she would get back up.

The last drip of energy she could muster carried her up the hill to where MacCready was setting up his rifle. His things were on the ground against the rock face, and he was positioned behind a boulder with a flat surface which would allow him to steady his aim. With a thump, she sat down on the ground near him, gazing out at the odd warehouse with electrical towers and generators lining the grounds. In the far distance were two buildings. The bigger of the two was an obvious warehouse, and the smaller appeared to be a garage or storage unit. A couple derelict cars scattered the grounds. A heap of old tires was piled up outside the lot. Two rows of electrical towers ran the length of the property inside a fenced perimeter, but it didn’t look like any electrical plant she had ever seen. 

MacCready spoke quietly. “There are a lot of them down there. I count six guards outside at least.”

She continued to stare out ahead of them. A breeze kicked up dust, and it swirled around the towers. The power lines swayed lazily. Her hands absentmindedly pulled at the seam on her jeans, and her breathing was slow. 

Moments that felt like ages passed. There wasn’t much sound aside from the occasional rustling from the wind, and the click of MacCready readjusting his gun. Her eyelids were heavy. Each blink felt like sandpaper being scraped across her eyes.

“There.” MacCready’s voice interrupted her dazed state. She turned her head towards him, eyebrows creased, squinting in the sun’s glare. He was stock still, staring down his rifle scope, hand on the grip but finger nowhere near the trigger. The collar of his duster was up to protect the sunburn on his neck.

“There,” MacCready’s voice was steady and confident. “I see him.”

“What?” Victoria leapt forward, stumbling, burnt and blistering hands scraping on rock as she tried to get up. She hit his shoulder with her own, nearly knocking him over. “Where?!”

“Shh!” he hissed, grabbing her arm and yanking her back towards him. “And get down! They’re going to see us you idiot.”

Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she paid no mind to his admonishments. She still felt tired, and was sure she was probably dreaming. She had to be dreaming. “Where is he? How can you see him?”

MacCready peered down his rifle scope again, his breathing slow and stable. His hold on the grip of the gun had tightened slightly, but that was the only indication that anything was unusual.

“It has to be him. I can’t entirely see his face but the hair looks right.”

“Mac I’m going to fucking kill you if-”

“Here,” he straightened, turning the gun towards her so she could look for herself. “Far right, top window. Closest to us.”

Hands shaking, she took the grip, steadying the gun on the boulder they were hidden behind. Closing her left eye, she looked down the scope, the scene in front of her turning green from the night vision glass. It took her a moment to get her bearings, and she noticed a few of the guards that were scattered around the area. The building was in worse condition than she had thought. The generators and power lines were still standing and in similar condition to when they had been built, but the warehouse was all but falling down. 

The scope swayed, and she lost focus for a moment. Holding her breath, she readjusted the scope on the building, noting the smashed windows and collapsing roof. Her sight line hit one window, then a second, then a third, before she saw dirt and rock again. Shifting slightly back to the left, the scope realigned with the last window on the top right of the building. She squinted. 

There, directly in the middle of the window, was a man with dark hair, slumped forwards in a chair. She couldn’t make out many details. He was only visible from the elbows up, and he was turned so she could only see him from the side. He appeared to be tied down and unconscious. He was beat up, but appeared to be alive. Victoria’s heart started to pump faster, slamming into her ribs. Sweat dripped from her forehead and coated her palms. 

In disbelief, and unwilling to let herself get excited, she moved away from the gun sight and looked towards the distant building. Then, taking a breath, she gazed down the scope again, finding the window and staring once more at the man tied to the chair. The dark hair, broad shoulders, and defined jaw line left no doubt in her mind.

It was him. 

They had found Danse.


End file.
